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LITTLE STORY 1
- Going as each other's plus ones to everything because it's easy, but they never even try to get actual dates
Throughout their entire friendship, Twyla and Howleen had always been each other’s plus one. From the moment they met, they had moved like an inseparable duo, each one so used to the other’s presence it felt like a familiar shadow.
They often walked so close that their elbows nearly brushed, and if one changed direction, the other followed without even thinking. It was natural, spontaneous, like breathing.
A wedding for one of Howleen’s family members?
Rest assured that Twyla would be there, sitting politely among the relatives. Her hands were always folded in her lap, her back straight, her smile discreet but kind. Every now and then she would glance at Howleen through the crowd, and Howleen would answer with a small nod or a knowing smirk, as if they shared a secret.
Random party?
Twyla and Howleen would be together: dancing in ways that often ended in laughter, or giggling in a corner while quietly commenting on the other guests. Or simply keeping each other company, sitting close together on the edge of a couch, their knees nearly touching, with Twyla holding a cup of punch and Howleen shaking her head to the rhythm of the music.
Pack meeting with Howleen’s werewolf clan?
Remember to put a chair for Twyla next to Howleen’s, because inevitably the two would end up whispering to each other, hiding smiles behind their hands. The older wolves would cast glances toward them with furrowed brows, while Howleen bounced her leg under the table and Twyla dissipated and reformed in little shadows, nervous but loyal to her place beside her friend.
It had all started because neither ghourl had a date to bring, and it eventually became something natural. A routine. A certainty. Neither of them ever complained: it was comfortable, simple, spontaneous.
A dynamic that had developed on its own, without needing to be discussed or defined.
Everyone knew that each one’s plus one was the other, and if you asked them, they would say it was just easier that way. They’d say it with a shrug, as if it were obvious, as if there were nothing to explain.
But then an old grump, always ready to find problems in everything, from Howleen’s family, after watching them together for the umpteenth time, asked the same question.
“Why do you always come with that Boogieman?” he barked, wrinkling his nose and pointing a clawed finger at Twyla. At that moment she had just slipped into a nearby shadow with Howleen’s earbuds in her ears, leaving only a tuft of hair visible.
Howleen shrugged with a half-smile, as if the question were nothing new. “Because it’s easier than trying to find someone else to come with me.”
Her voice was calm, almost distracted, as she scratched behind an ear while her brother’s birthday party carried on behind her.
The old werewolf froze, thrown off. He looked her in the eyes as if searching for a second meaning in the answer, a joke, or some other kind of implication. Something.
But Howleen just stood there, arms crossed, her back slightly hunched from the day’s tiredness, completely sincere.
“What do you mean easier than finding someone to go with you? I mean, there are mansters who’d like to ask you out, but you’re always with that ghourl.”
His voice grew sharper, and Howleen looked at him as if he were crazy, her ears tilted slightly back.
“What do you mean?” the ghourl asked, tilting her head like a confused puppy. One eyebrow lifted, and her foot began tapping nervously against the floor.
The old werewolf furrowed his brows, trying to figure out if the ghourl was making fun of him, but it didn’t seem so. He ran a hand through his grey fur and huffed.
Then he said, with a hard but confused expression: “Howleen, haven’t you noticed there are mansters who want to ask you out?”
Howleen just looked at him, confused. Then she glanced around, as if she could actually see someone pop out right then. Her ears lowered slightly.
“Which mansters?”
“The ones who walk toward you with flowers and stuffed animals in hand, but stop dead in their tracks every time your friend pops out of some shadow and sticks to you like a barnacle to a rock?”
Howleen stared at him blankly, her mouth slightly open. It seemed like her brain was struggling to process the very concept.
The old werewolf pinched the bridge of his nose in irritation and had to repeat, this time with an even more confused, almost desperate tone:
“Do you remember Screamolus?”
The young werewolf nodded slowly, thoughtful.
“Do you remember that he showed up at the meeting of all the werewolves of New Salem with flowers?” he asked, raising a hand as if holding an invisible bouquet.
Another nod, this time more hesitant.
“Do you remember that he tried to talk to you all evening?”
Howleen shook her head, even more confused, brows knitted and ears alert, as though trying to catch an answer that wouldn’t come.
The older werewolf scowled and snapped, slamming a fist on the table:
“OF COURSE YOU DON’T REMEMBER!! YOU WERE GLUED TO THAT BOOGIEMAN THE ENTIRE EVENING IN A DARK CORNER! HOWLEEN, DON’T PLAY DUMB WITH ME!”
The blow made the table tremble slightly, and Howleen jumped back, startled, her ears standing upright in fear.
Around them, Clawd and Clawdeen immediately turned and rushed over, growling at the elder who had dared to shout at their little sister for no apparent reason, teeth bared, eyes fixed on him.
But Howleen just stood there frozen, her heart pounding.
Her hands trembled slightly as she realized that, in fact, she had never bothered to find anyone other than Twyla to be her plus one for any kind of event.
She had never thought about it. Not once.
Then Twyla appeared from the shadow, silent as always, her eyes wide with worry. Her cold, light fingers brushed Howleen’s arm before resting on her shoulder.
“Are you okay?” she asked in a low, gentle voice, almost afraid the answer might be no.
And Howleen looked at her without saying anything, breathing shallow.
She stared at her as if truly seeing her for the first time.
Because she had come to a realization she wasn’t ready to share with her best friend.
And, now that she really thought about it — thanks to that old man’s intervention — she wasn’t just her best friend.
She was also the ghourl she had a crush on.
LITTLE STORY 2
- Tons of inside jokes that only they understand
Howleen was no stranger to inside jokes.
The great thing about having so many brothers and sisters was that, statistically, it was impossible not to have at least one or two with someone. Amid crowded hallways, noisy meals, games of claws and growls, inside jokes were a natural part of her life: little jokes, glances, code words born from years of shared living.
Howleen had them with almost everyone… well, except the youngest, who laughed at anything and had the memory of a goldfish with dementia. With them, it was more random giggling than a true inside joke.
So it didn’t surprise her when she and Twyla started having inside jokes that no one else could understand.
In fact, it came naturally. After all, for Howleen, they were a fundamental part of any important relationship she had ever had. And with Twyla… well, they came out almost effortlessly, as if their minds were made to understand each other between the lines.
Twyla always laughed quietly, her shoulders trembling slightly, that shy smile peeking through strands of hair, but when it was Howleen speaking… the laughter erupted like something long held back.
Once, for example, she and Twyla were talking to Clawdeen at her locker.
The hallway was full of students, the smell of hairspray and perfumes floating in the air, and Clawdeen was telling a gossip story with wide gestures and a voice full of indignation. “She was literally wearing crows embroidered on her sleeves. I mean, so out of season.”
Howleen, with a sly little smirk that Twyla immediately recognized, barely turned her head toward her and said:
“Crows and season. Seems just like an alcove.”
It took less than a second.
The silent and practically invisible Twyla exploded into a laugh that no one would have expected. She bent slightly forward, bringing a hand to her mouth to stifle it, but the giggles escaped anyway through her teary eyes and strangled voice.
She had to lean on Howleen to keep her balance while the latter chuckled proudly at her comedic success.
Clawdeen, meanwhile, remained frozen. Her eyebrows nearly reached her hairline as she watched her little sister and best friend laugh uncontrollably, clinging to each other as if holding each other up.
“Okay…? Where did that come from?” she muttered, confused, while Twyla tried to catch her breath.
Another time it happened in class.
It was a gray day, rain tapping against the windows, and Professor Rotten paced back and forth with slow, monotonous steps.
“So when we talk about dead languages…” he began, raising a green finger.
He didn’t even have time to finish because he was interrupted by the person he least expected to ever interrupt a lesson: Twyla Boogieman.
The ghourl leaned toward Howleen’s desk, her eyes shining with incredible complicity, and with a thirty-two-toothed grin she murmured:
“Dead as a pair of pants.”
Howleen burst out laughing so hard she hit her hand on the desk. The sound echoed through the classroom. Some students jumped.
Twyla laughed with her, shoulders trembling, and their backpacks shook as much as the desks were rattled.
Professor Rotten went silent.
An incredulous quiet fell over the classroom, broken only by the rolling laughter of the two.
And while Professor Rotten was shooing the ghourls out of the classroom — pointing toward the door with a trembling hand and a stunned face — he said, “Out! Immediately! Both of you!”
The two left still laughing, clutching each other’s arms, almost tripping over the door frame because they couldn’t look where they were going.
As the door closed behind them, Professor Rotten muttered:
“Damned lovesick teenagers.”
And many other occasions followed.
Moments when everyone turned to look at them as if they were crazy; scenes in which they laughed at words that seemed random to others but carried a wonderful memory for them; instances where a single raised eyebrow, a grimace, a tiny gesture was enough to make them both burst out laughing.
LITTLE STORY 3
- Literally everyone around them knowing except for them.
At Monster High, everyone knew one thing: Howleen Wolf and Twyla Boogieman were in love.
You could tell from miles away, even in the crowded, noisy hallways of the school, where vampires, zombies, and mummies jostled between lockers.
Everyone knew… well, except them, apparently.
Howleen’s siblings, at first, weren’t thrilled that their little sister was in a situation where her heart could get broken. The idea made them growl under their breath, the hairs on the back of their necks standing on end every time they saw her blush in front of Twyla.
But eventually, even they had to give in to the evidence: the two ghourls cared deeply for each other.
It was impossible to deny, even when they awkwardly tried to ignore it.
Too bad the aforementioned ghourls didn’t know each other’s feelings — a romantic tragedy worthy of a dramatic monster movie.
Gory knew, watching them with a sharp smile as she and Bram teased the duo.
Toralei knew and even made snarky little comments every time they walked by.
Professor Rotten knew and sighed every time he saw them sitting close together, completely ignoring the lesson.
Headless Headmistress knew, shaking her head — which she held in her hand — every time she saw them giggling side by side in the hallways.
Deuce knew, Rochelle knew, Lagoona knew, Gil knew.
Even the haunted lockers seemed to know, judging by the number of notes they spat out every time Twyla wasn’t in the mood to talk or socialize, forcing the two ghourls to exchange notes to communicate.
Everyone knew.
From friends to foes, no one at Monster High could help but groan every time the two ghourls acted like lovers, only to innocently declare themselves “best friends.”
They exchanged long glances, inexplicably tight hugs, compliments that sounded straight out of a romance novel, and nervous giggles that betrayed more than they wanted to admit — not to mention when they fed each other at lunch, forcing some to look away or leave the room.
It was damn exhausting and painful to watch, like witnessing a scene everyone knew by heart but that kept repeating without ever reaching the point.
A true emotional torture…
at least for anyone who wasn’t Howleen or Twyla.
LITTLE STORY 4
- Getting in a fight and being scared of losing each other but getting over it just like how they did when they were just friends
The first time Howleen and Twyla fought as a couple was terrible.
Now, to be clear: the fight had been almost superficial.
Flashback of the argument:
Howleen was happy, bouncing through the hallways of Monster High, her eyes and nose searching for her ghourlfriend. Her tail swished back and forth with excitement, and her perked-up ears vibrated every time she caught a familiar scent. She was so thrilled to share some good news that she almost tripped over her own feet in her haste.
She found Twyla in a shadow near the windows, reading, legs crossed and the book held up to her face. Howleen approached, radiant, barely able to hold back a happy yip, and hugged the Boogieman from behind.
“Twyla!” she exclaimed joyfully, hugging her with almost overflowing enthusiasm.
The turquoise ghourl turned, equally happy to see her, giving her a soft smile that softened her features before kissing her on the lips. Still holding Howleen’s hands on her hips, she said, “This Saturday is going to be amazing!” leaning forward as if to get even closer.
Twyla nodded. “I know, I can’t wait.”
Her clear eyes shone with a calm affection that contrasted with Howleen’s restless energy.
Howleen grabbed her iCoffin with a quick gesture and showed her two matching outfits, clearly meant for a couple. Her fingers trembled with excitement.
“We should wear these!” she said, her ears twitching eagerly.
The turquoise ghourl looked at her, confused, then smiled slightly and shook her head, amused. Her shoulders shook with a suppressed giggle.
“I appreciate the enthusiasm, love, but don’t you think that’s a bit much for a casual at-home date?”
Howleen was ecstatic to be called “love”: her cheeks burned, her ears twitched with happiness. Nicknames were still new, but always appreciated and welcomed.
Then she paused to think about what her ghourlfriend had said, tilting her head slightly in confusion, like a little pup.
“Why do you call a party a casual date?”
Twyla’s face shifted from amusement to slightly worried confusion. Her eyebrows raised, and she tilted her head, as if to make sure she heard correctly.
“Why do you call a casual date a party?”
Howleen furrowed her brows, puffing her cheeks slightly in an inadvertently adorable gesture in Twyla’s eyes.
“Uh, okay, maybe we’re not understanding each other. I’ll start: on Saturday there’s Remulus’s party, and we’re going together as a couple.”
Twyla’s eyes went wide, clutching her book.
“But on Saturday we agreed to have a cozy date at my place!”
At that moment, the memory of that date with her ghourlfriend hit Howleen like a punch to the stomach. Her ears drooped.
“Oh full moon… in my rush to say yes to the party, I forgot our date.”
She looked up at Twyla, who was standing with arms crossed and an unimpressed expression. Howleen smiled awkwardly, biting her lip before saying, tilting her head toward the Boogieman:
“I’m so, so sorry I forgot! I promise I’ll make it up to you!”
Twyla didn’t change her expression or posture, replying in a cold but controlled tone:
“You can make it up by keeping your promise, don’t you think?”
Her fingers gripped her arms lightly, a sign that she was holding back a whirlwind of emotions.
At those words, Howleen straightened up, trying to regain some dignity, but in a nearly desperate tone said:
“But all the werewolves will be at the party! It’s the most important party before exam weeks!”
Her foot began tapping nervously on the floor.
Twyla responded, annoyed, her voice cracking with irritation:
“That’s exactly why we had a date on Saturday. Neither my dad nor your parents will let us go out or study together during exam weeks, and at school we won’t even share a class because of different courses. It will be our last date for weeks.”
Her hands trembled as she hugged her arms. If Twyla had started out annoyed, she ended with a wounded note in her voice. Her gaze clouded with sadness.
But Howleen didn’t seem to understand.
“Then why don’t we have our last date at the party? We can be together and socialize.”
Her eyes shone with almost childlike hope.
Twyla’s gaze went from desperate to stone-cold: the chill around her seemed to lower the temperature of the hallway.
“You made a date with me before agreeing to go to that party.”
Howleen replied, slightly irritated, crossing her arms automatically:
“It’s an important party!”
“To you, everything is important if it is a party!”
“You’ll have fun and socialize!”
The words came out too fast, too sharp, as if she was trying to convince herself more than Twyla.
Twyla hardened her gaze even more. The irritation in his eyes and movements was obvious.
“You mean you’ll socialize while I sit in a dark corner. You know I don’t like crowds and loud noises. And even if I did, I’d want to spend time with my ghourlfriend without anyone interrupting us or hitting on her.”
At that point, Howleen lost her patience: her pointed ears shot up and a few fangs peeked out, her negative emotion spilling over.
“Can you do me this one favor?”
“I always do this favor for you, Howleen! For once, I want you to be satisfied with just spending time with me!”
Twyla’s voice trembled slightly at the end.
“I want to spend time with you! It’s just that this party is important!”
Howleen’s words sounded almost like a restrained growl.
Twyla didn’t answer; her gaze remained hard before disappearing into the shadows, swallowed by the darkness as if she had never been there.
End flashback.
From that moment on, Twyla and Howleen avoided each other like the plague: they didn’t sit together at lunch, didn’t accompany each other to class, and when they had class together, they sat far apart.
Every time they crossed paths, they looked away too quickly.
But the closer Saturday came, the more Howleen’s heart ached and dark thoughts clouded her mind. Her hands couldn’t stay still, her nails drummed on surfaces, and she bit her lip until it nearly bled.
“Oh god! That was our first fight as a couple, and it went terribly. We haven’t spoken for four days and tomorrow is Saturday. What if she doesn’t love me anymore and decides to leave me because of this? I can’t lose her.”
This is what she thought, sitting on a bench she often used for dates with Twyla, shoulders hunched, fingers gripping the edge. Finally, she sighed, burying her head in her hands.
“I’m an idiot.”
-------
Saturday arrived, and Twyla was eating ice cream at her place, sunk into the couch in pajamas, definitely not elegant or party-appropriate. The spoon sank slowly into the tub, while scenes of a movie she wasn’t really watching played on the screen.
Between scrolling her iCoffin, a distracted glance at the open book on the armrest, and the faint sound of the TV, her mind couldn’t focus. Every thought inevitably returned to Howleen.
Five days had passed without a word, a message, or even a reaction. Five days that weighed on her chest like weeks. Twyla wondered if it was the end of their relationship and friendship.
She got up, pacing the living room, passing the rug, then the bookshelf, then the window, as if constant movement could stop her thoughts. After a good half hour, she collapsed back on the couch with a long, trembling sigh.
She put a hand on her forehead, eyes to the ceiling, then let her head fall back on the cushion, exhausted.
“Why didn’t I just agree to go to that party?” she thought, biting her lip. “Howleen is right, it’s an important party… especially for werewolves, if you want a social life.”
Another thought, horrible but increasingly frequent these days, pierced her mind like a sharp pang:
“What if someone is trying to get with her now? Someone who likes parties and socializing almost constantly? What if she decides to leave me for that person?”
As soon as the thought finished, Twyla felt tears welling in her eyes. She wiped them with the back of her hand, but more threatened to fall. She was about to let herself go when a sudden noise made her jump.
Someone was knocking at the door. Sharp, rhythmic knocks, unmistakable.
Twyla’s heart leapt. Only one person, in all of Monster High, knew how to knock like that on a Boogieman house door.
Howleen.
Without thinking, Twyla practically lunged for the door. Her hand shook as she grabbed the handle, twisted it, and swung it open.
There was Howleen, looking apologetic, eyes downcast, holding a picnic basket. A strand of hair had slipped across her face, and her breath was slightly ragged, as if she had run there.
They stood in silence for a few seconds, the air heavy with unspoken emotions. Then Howleen lifted her gaze slightly and said:
“You look beautiful tonight.”
Her smile was sweet, shy, almost hopeful.
Twyla couldn’t smile. Her stomach clenched, and she looked at the floor, murmuring:
“I would’ve been prettier in the dress you wanted me to wear to the party.”
Howleen slowly set the basket on the floor, making a soft thud. Then she stepped forward, gently taking her shoulders, fingers trembling slightly, and said in a low but firm voice:
“No. You’re perfect like this.”
Twyla blushed instantly. Not just because of the words, but the way Howleen was looking at her: a gaze full of affection, fear, and desire mixed together. She cleared her throat to seem less shaken and asked:
“Shouldn’t you be at the party?”
Howleen didn’t let go of her shoulders. In fact, her hands slid slightly lower, as if to gently hold her there.
“I’d rather have a date with my ghourlfriend than a party.”
Twyla’s eyes went wide, breathless, as Howleen added:
“I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”
Those words were the spark. Twyla threw herself into Howleen’s arms, holding her tight as if she feared she might disappear. Howleen lifted her slightly off the ground in a tight embrace, trembling as much as she did.
They kissed, a long kiss, full of everything they hadn’t said in those five days. Then they both bent down to pick up the picnic basket, giggling softly as their hands brushed.
Inside were Twyla’s favorite snacks, carefully chosen. This melted her heart even more.
They stepped inside, closing the door with a soft click, and as they moved into the living room hand in hand, they promised each other — with whispered words and sincere glances — that they would never lose one another.